Dreamscapes
by Kieran Aisling
Summary: A succubus wants Peter Pan for herself, but she must use Hook to break down the boy's defenses. Thanks to her "gift" Hook's nightmares become his dreams, and Peter finds himself helpless to his enemy's whims. Based on Fox's PPP.
1. A Dark Gift

Chapter 1

Hook sat in his room, trying to concentrate on his book. It was well past midnight and he was exhausted, but he was loath to turn in for the night. For the past two weeks, he'd had vivid nightmares, dreams in which he was defeated time and time again by Pan. And not just defeated, as he was when the brat pulled a prank or escaped, but ultimately defeated, as in death. The dreams were vivid enough that when he woke from them, he still felt the fear and physical pain, as if he'd actually endured it in the waking world. And even after reality fully reasserted itself, he could remember the dream in exquisite detail. It was even more disturbing because Hook had never really dreamed before, or if he had, he'd never remembered his dreams.

So tonight he sat awake, as he had last night and the night before, praying that when he finally did turn to slumber, his rest would be dreamless and calm. He hoped that by exhausting himself to his limits, his mind would be too tired to spin the fantasies that haunted him. He was only a hair's breath from turning to alcohol to help him sleep soundly. He always considered heavy drinking a weakness… how could he be prepared to defend himself if he were intoxicated, and he had no sympathy for the weak-willed fools who turned to the bottle for solace. But he was at the end of his rope, and he was becoming desperate. _Please,_ he prayed, though he knew no deity would grant his request, _no dreams. I'll do anything, pay any price, if I can sleep in peace._

He blinked, re-reading the paragraph for the fifth time. He couldn't concentrate on the words, his eyes passing over the letters, seeing without comprehension. His blinks became slower, lasting longer, until at last his eyes no longer opened. His chin dropped upon his chest and he breathed deeply, fast asleep.

The boy laughed manically as he stood over his prey, strutting and making rude gestures. Then he brought his sword up threateningly and smiled sickeningly at the man. "Game over, Codfish! I win!" he crowed in triumph.

Hook knelt on the ground before Peter Pan, staring in horror at the stump on his left arm, then looking down at the severed hand on the ground in front of him. "You took my other hand!" he gasped, his mind reeling from the pain. 

"I'll take everything from you, Hook," Pan said mockingly. "I rule Neverland, and you are merely one of my toys… a broken, old toy."

Hook looked up at the boy and flinched when Pan drew back to deliver the death blow. "Peter, please! Don't!"

Pan laughed and blew him a kiss, the swung his sword to take off his opponent's head.

"Stop," came a woman's voice, calm and filled with quiet authority.

Hook stared in confusion at the sword only inches from his neck. Pan was frozen immobile, his face contorted in a rictus of triumph and bloodlust. The man scrambled back, moaning at the pain where his hand had been.

"You poor, poor man," the woman's voice purred. "Let me help you." She stepped into view. She seemed to be human, except that she was extremely pale. Her hair was long and jet black, matching the black pants, cloak and bodice she wore. The black was relieved only by the red trim, matching her blood read lips and eyes. She ignored the statue Pan and knelt before Hook.

Hook stared at her as she took his wounded arm in her hands. "How… what is going on?"

"I'll kiss it and make it better," she said silkily. "Isn't that how the children heal wounds?" She raised the stump to her lips and gently pressed them against the raw flesh and splintered bone. She looked at Hook and smiled as she released her hold, "There now, all better."

Hook looked at his arm, aware that the pain was gone. His hand was restored, healed as if it had never been injured. He looked at his other arm and found the steel hook was gone, replaced by the hand that had been taken from him so long ago. "How?" he repeated in shock.

"You are asleep, James," the woman said softly. "This is but a dream, and that child is but a symbol of your hate and fear. Dreams have no power if you recognize them and seize control. If you let me, I will give you the power to realize when you dream and allow you to direct them to more positive paths. Your nightmares will become your fantasies. Here, you will have ultimate control."

"Who are you?" Hook asked, gathering his composure and standing.

"Morphea," she answered. "I am a dream-keeper. Your dreams are powerful, and I'd like to make them even more powerful."

"Why?"

Morphea laughed, "Because, if you and I enter a pact and I help you, your dreams will make me stronger. You will sleep well, dreaming whatever you wish, and I will gain power from them."

Hook thought for a while, the walked to the frozen boy. "I can do anything? I only want to kill him. I want to make him suffer like he's made me suffer, and I want to extinguish his life."

Morphea nodded and joined him beside the boy. She took the sword from Pan's hand and gave it to Hook. "Especially that. Your strong emotions towards him make the dream even more real. I will give you a taste of what I'm offering. Think of what you'd like to do to him."

Hook didn't have to think long. He nodded and Morphea softly said "Go."

Peter stood on the plank, hands bound behind his back. Below him, in the water, the croc leapt for the morsel above her.

"You can't kill me, Codfish!" Pan yelled defiantly.

Hook grinned evilly and stood on the plank. "Oh but I will," he grated and ran the sword through the brat's gut, all the way to the hilt.

Pan screamed, but Hook merely stared at him, gazing into his eyes as the life faded from them. When Pan was dead, Hook pulled the sword free and let the body topple from the plank, into the waiting jaws of the croc.

The mist roiled and he stood in a grey expanse. Morphea was smiling at him. "How did that feel?"

"Most satisfying," Hook purred, staring at the blood on the sword. "And disappointing. I have so many ways I'd like to kill him, to make him suffer."

"I can give you this every night," the woman said as she approached him. She caressed his face, letting her fingers trail down his chest. "Do you want my gift?"

"Yes," Hook nodded.

Morphea stepped back and held out a necklace. "The pendant opens. Put something of Peter Pan within it, preferably a drop or two of blood. Wear it when you sleep and you will dream of him. You will know it to be a dream, and by knowing you will have absolute control. Satisfy your every whim. But in return for this gift, you must not kill him in the waking world. Once he has died in truth, this gift will disappear. As long as he lives in the real world, he can die in your dreams."

Hook took the locket. Before he could thank her, he jerked awake and caught himself as he began sliding out of the chair. "A dream," he muttered, then realized he was holding something. He opened his fingers and smiled when he saw the locket in his hand. "Oh, Pan, I hope I see you soon. You'll help me sleep at nights… and maybe I'll hold off on killing you for awhile."


	2. Blood Price

Chapter 2

"Gee, Codfish," Peter laughed, but beneath the gaiety was a touch of concern, "you really aren't yourself today." Peter parried the steel hook and dove between the man's legs, flying up behind him to pull the hat down over Hook's eyes. He floated back several paces and waited for his opponent to collect himself. 

Growling angrily, Hook extricated his head from his hat and turned. He fixed the hateful boy with his gaze and willed the energy from somewhere to finish this fight, one way or another. It had been three days since Morphea had given him his gift, and he'd been unable to get the required blood from Pan to make it work. Three more nights of hideous nightmares. Looking at the happy, laughing child, he knew that the Pan of his nightmares would never be the Pan of his waking life. He'd have to do something especially cruel to the boy to goad him into becoming that monster. But knowing that now helped him not when he was locked into his nightmare, battling an indomitable foe and believing that the dream was reality. 

"Come here, boy, I don't have the stamina to chase you!" Hook growled to himself, but Peter heard him and actually floated a few steps closer.

"Captain Hook?" he was serious now as he noted that the circles under the man's eyes were darker today and his skin was a pasty yellow color. The sword trembled slightly in the man's grip, and he looked as if he were ready to faint. "Are you sick? If you're really truly sick, I'll leave you alone." 

Hook frowned, seeing the concern. _Why would he care? Maybe because I'm not entertaining him enough._ He saw Smee approaching from behind the child, and Peter was, for once, too distracted to notice the old man's silent approach. _You shouldn't have come alone today. You've no eyes in the back of your head right now._

"No, boy, I'm not sick. I'm tired, and I need sleep. I've too many nightmares for my sanity to stay much longer, and if I don't get what I need to rest, I'll be forced to do myself in." Hook wasn't exaggerating. He couldn't do this much longer. The more he dreamed, the worse they got. It was like every dream dug deeper into his mind, pulling out his guilty secrets and most hideous of fears. Upon waking this morning, he'd actually put his pistol in his mouth, and it had taken a lot of effort and cajoling on Smee's part to make him put it away and try again today.

"Nightmares?" Peter said with a frown. "You can't kill yourself over nightmares, Captain! If you kill yourself at all, you're doomed to be born again in Neverland as something you'd hate the most." Peter thought for a bit. "Chief Panther has some herbs that make you sleep without dreams. I'll get you some! That way you'll feel better and we can fight again. I don't want to beat you if you're not fit for the battle."

"You can get me something much better, Pan," Hook growled as Smee lifted the club. Smee knew not to kill him; all his men knew that strange order. They just didn't know why.

"What would that be?" Peter asked. The club came down on the back of his skull. He felt a bright pain explode in his head and his vision faded to black. He never even felt himself fall to the deck.

"You, Pan," Hook smiled as Smee checked the boy. 

"'e's out, Cap'n. Gonna have a nasty lump an' a splittin' headache when 'e wakes up," Smee declared. 

"Good," Hook nodded and picked the boy up. He beckoned to Smee and together they went down to the brig to tuck their prisoner in.

Peter woke with the worst headache he'd ever had in his life. He groaned and rolled over, trying to open his eyes to see where he was.

"Peter?" the voice that had awakened him called.

"Tink?" Peter whispered.

"Oh thank goodness!" the pixie sighed. "Hurry Curly!"

There was a sound of a key in a lock, and then the groan of metal as the cell door swung open. Peter finally managed to open his eyes and saw Tinker Bell and Curly staring at him intently. 

"Are you alright, Peter? You've got a bandage on your head," Curly whispered.

"I'm fine," Peter answered and sat up. He was a bit dizzy, and his headache made him want to throw up, but he fought it away and concentrated on escaping.

"Can you fly?" Tink asked. When the boy nodded, they helped him to stand and led him out of the cell. The sunlight killed his head, but he let Curly take his arm and lead him away from the pirate ship, back home. 

"Where'd the pirates go?" Peter mused when there was no hindrance to their escape and no parting shot from Long Tom.

"I don't know and I don't care," Tink replied. "The only important thing is to get you away from there and safe at home."

"My head hurts," Peter sighed.

"I'll send someone to the Indians for some medicine, Peter," Curly offered.

"Thanks," Peter mumbled, concentrating on staying aloft. They continued their trip in silence, each wondering about the ease of their escape, but thankful for it none the less.

"The lad's away," Smee informed his captain quietly. "We hid when we saw th' Lost Boy approachin', an' no one got in th' way."

"Very good, Smee," Hook replied as he carefully cut the blood spot from the handkerchief. He'd been a bit disappointed that he didn't have to cut the boy to get his blood, the blow to his head having gashed his scalp. But he hadn't cared enough to do any more damage to Peter, and so had taken the few drops he needed from that source. Now he had to put the blood within the locket, and he was taking care to cut as large a piece as possible to fit in it. 

"Beggin' yer pardon, Cap'n, but why did we let 'em go?" the bosun asked sheepishly.

"You know I have bad dreams, Smee. I'm hoping that after I proved to myself that I _can_ defeat him, I will sleep better. I'm too tired to enjoy killing him right now, and he's going to escape anyway. It's less painful to just let them have him back, so I can deal with him when I'm well." Hook was reluctant to tell anyone about the amulet. Pan would likely steal it from him if he heard his men discussing it. 

"An' why'd ya need 'is blood?" 

_That's what I'd like to know, but I care more about stopping the nightmares that understanding the fundamentals of fairy magic. _"It's a souvenir, Smee, to remind me that we got him." He looked up at the old man, feeling oddly indulgent. _It's because I'm too tired to play the evil Captain right now_, he reassured himself. "Thank you for catching him for me. I wasn't up to doing it myself. As long as my crew is behind me, I'll defeat that brat for good one day."

Smee brightened and blushed a bit. "Anythin' fer me Cap'n!" he said as he bustled about the cabin.

"Don't worry with that, Smee, I'm taking a nap," Hook admonished. When he saw the man frown, he held up his hand. "Stay if you wish, to reassure yourself I won't do something rash when I awaken. But I have a feeling the nightmares are done for good now. I'm tired."

"Ay, Cap'n," the bosun nodded and helped the man undress for bed.  It didn't take the man long to fall asleep.

"I see you've completed the charm," Morphea's voice called to him in the grey void.

"Ay, I have," Hook answered, looking around for a sign of her. "Now what do I do?"

"He must have a period of sleep himself before you can dream of him," the woman answered. 

"Why?" Hook asked, frowning. "Why does anything he do impact _my_ dreams? And why did I need his blood?"

"You wish the dreams to be realistic?" Morphea asked. "The charm does not know Peter Pan. But it will seek out the one whose blood is contained within it. It will taste him when he sleeps, gauging his mind and his personality. Afterwards when you sleep, it will create for you a dream Peter Pan, one that will act and react exactly as the real one would."

"Is there anything else I must know?" Hook asked. "Any rules or taboos? Any side effects or unspoken agreements? It seems I am getting a precious gift."

"I told you, I will draw strength from your dreams, and it will cost you nothing. Do anything you wish to the boy, there are no taboos. The dream may be as long or as short as you wish, it will last the same amount of time in your reality. But you must end the dream yourself, by bringing it to it's conclusion. If you seek to vent your anger on Peter Pan and fantasize of killing him, then the only way you can awaken is to kill him. You may dream as often as you like, whenever you like."

"And what of right now, madam? Pan likely won't sleep again until tonight. Must I endure more nightmares until then?"

"No," came the woman's voice. "I told you, to know you dream is to control your dreams. Now that the charm is complete, you will always know when you dream. You may fashion a dream to your liking, or you may sleep without dreams for now. Whatever you wish."

Hook thought for a little while. "No dreams, not right now. My mind and my body are too tired. I want oblivion…" he never completed the thought. He spun away into darkness, and knew no more until he awoke a few hours later. He felt better then, and was nearly cheerful as he went about his duties, eager for the first time in weeks for the night to come.


	3. The Nightmare Begins

Chapter 3

Hook stood on the deck of his ship, watching the chaos around him. His men fought the boys, and the air was filled with the clash of steel and the sounds of taunts and grunts as the battle grew fiercer. In the middle of the deck, like the calm eye of a hurricane, Peter Pan stood. He stared at the fight, and no one tried to engage him.

"Pan!" Hook shouted to his nemesis.

Peter looked up and glared at him, drawing his dagger. "Codfish!" he called back, a grin spreading across his face.

Hook smiled in return. _Time to try out my new toy.__ Time to take control. "I have you now, brat! You are friendless and alone, and you cannot fly."_

Peter looked confused. "What are you talking about?" He looked around at his friends and saw that everyone was staring at him, friend and foe alike. The battle had ceased and the Lost Boys stood side-by-side with the pirates. As one, his boys advanced on him, their eyes filled with hate. Peter jumped, trying to fly, but his feet seemed to be nailed to the deck.

"Nibs?" he called as his second stopped before him. The boy only glared without replying. Then there was an explosion of pain in his face and he saw stars as Nibs's fist connected with his nose. Peter fell to the deck, clutching his broken nose and trying to recover his stunned senses. Someone kicked him in the ribs, sending him sprawling. Like jackals on a wounded deer, the boys tore into Peter, punching and kicking him. They taunted him, denying his friendship, denying their love for him, and called him ugly names. Peter writhed, trying to escape the pain of the beating and the hurtful words. But he was surrounded on all sides and he collapsed beneath the onslaught.

Hook laughed at the sight of Pan's brats turning against him. He took delight in every hit, every word the boys hurt him with. The sounds of Pan's cries were like music. When Peter stopped moving and his cries ceased, Hook made the dream-children stop their attack. Slowly, relishing the sight of Pan curled up in a ball, sobbing, Hook crossed the deck and towered over the boy.

Peter was bruised and bloody, but his tears weren't for his physical hurts. _Why did they betray me? What happened to my friends?_ When it finally registered in his mind that the beating had stopped and it was now quiet, he uncurled enough to turn his head and look up. He glared at Hook, wishing he could kill the man with the force of the hate in his heart. He wanted to get up, to stand defiant, but his body wouldn't obey him.

Hook knelt down beside the boy and gently wiped some of the blood from Peter's face. _Too bad this isn't real. What would the real Pan do if his friends turned on him? The spell is supposed to mimic him exactly, so I guess this is it. It's so realistic, detailed even down to his eyelashes_. "My turn now, boy," he growled, hoisting Peter up. "It's time for the real fun to begin."

Peter awoke with a cry, thrashing about so violently that he fell out of the bed. The impact from the floor jarred him, adding to the agonies that wracked his body. He looked around frantically as he scrambled to his feet, disoriented and afraid. _Home… I'm home_, he realized as the familiar room began to register in his mind. He began to calm as the throbbing pains rapidly faded, and when he checked himself there were no bruises, no blood, no broken bones or claw marks. He looked at the bed and saw his Lost Boys were all sound asleep, murmuring in their own dreams.

_They wouldn't betray me. They love me,_ Peter reassured himself. _It was just a nightmare._ But it had been so real, it still frightened him. He could still see it, still see the hate in Nibs's eyes, still see Hook smiling at him. He could remember vividly the pain from the beatings, the agony when the wicked claw had dug into his flesh, over and over again. And he could still hear Hook's cruel laughter.

"Peter?" Tink called as she stuck her head out of her house. She saw how pale he was, how he was shaking, and she flew to him, alarmed. "Are you sick? What's wrong?"

"Bad dream," he whispered, "just a dream." He looked at her, fighting back the tears. "I can still remember it, it was too real." He sat on the edge of the bed and took a few deep, steadying breaths. 

"Tell me what it was about," Tink encouraged him. She was a bit puzzled. Peter had nightmares often, bad ones at that. But he never remembered them upon awakening. She shuddered at the images as Peter described it to her, and when he was done, she alighted on his shoulder and gave him a small kiss on the cheek.

"I've never had a dream like that before. I'm still scared," he said with a sigh.

"Lay back down, Peter, and try to go back to sleep," Tink said softly. "You're safe at home, and everyone here loves you."

Peter nodded and did what she said. For a long while after her glow was gone, he lay awake. The dream still haunted him, and he was afraid to go back to sleep. Finally, he sighed and snuggled up to Nibs.

"Peter?" the boy muttered, half awake.

"Nightmare," Peter whispered.

Nibs nodded without opening his eyes and put out his arm for Peter to lay his head on. Peter got comfortable and put his arm around Nibs.

"Been a long time since we did this," Nibs whispered.

"Yeah," Peter replied, beginning to drift off. "Thanks, though."

"Do anything for you," Nibs replied and went back to sleep.

That night was hell for Tinker Bell and the Lost Boys, who all awoke to Peter's screams. Peter dreamt of Hook again and he was locked inside the dream until he died. When he finally awoke, it was several minutes before the boys could calm him enough for him to realize he was safe. He tried to sleep again later with the same result. It wasn't until sunrise that they could all rest, and Peter thankfully fell into dreamless slumber.

Hook awoke that morning in a wonderful mood.  He was rested and content, having dampened the fires in his heart through his dreams.  He lay for awhile and savored the dreams he still so vividly remembered, picturing again the dream-Pan as he perished over and over again.  He'd killed the boy a few times, each in a different way, and each scenario had given him inspiration for more.  He'd made his friends betray him in one, then made him watch his friends die in another.  He'd eviscerated him, fed him to the croc, and cut little pieces off of him, starting with fingers and ending with limbs, at which point he'd gotten bored and ended it.

_As she said, the dream ends when I kill him, but I can make a dream last as long as I wish.  Oh yes, I am going to play with my gift for a long time before I send the real Peter Pan on to the afterlife.  Perhaps Morphea gave me this gift so I wouldn't harm the brat._

Cheerfully, he got dressed and had one of his best days since he'd come to Neverland.  The only thing that marred it was, surprisingly, that Pan and his band didn't show up as they usually did to torment him.


	4. A Cry For Help

Chapter 4

"Chief Panther, I don't know what to do!" Tink cried.  "It's been over a week since they started.  At first he could sleep without the dreams when sunrise came, but now he has them even then.  He hasn't slept a wink since yesterday morning, and he's so tired and shaky he can't even eat."

Panther nodded and looked at Peter.  The boy was sitting before him, head bowed in exhaustion.  His eyes, when Panther had actually gotten the boy to look up at him, were haunted by unspeakable memories.  Peter was pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and his hands shook when they weren't clutching each other.  He'd been very surprised when Peter had been carried to the village by two other Lost Boys, but after hearing the dreams the boy remembered better than his own memories, he understood why the child couldn't find a happy thought.

"You have tried putting him into an enchanted sleep?" Panther asked.  By the look of horror Peter shot him, he guessed that she had and it had gone awry.

"I couldn't wake up," Peter moaned, covering his face with his hands.  "Over and over again, and I couldn't wake up.  Before I'd wake up when I died, but when Tink spelled me, I couldn't escape.  I had even more dreams that night."

"We didn't know he was dreaming," Tink added.  "Normally, he screams and talks in his sleep when the nightmares attack.  We can't wake him until the dream's over, but we know he's dreaming.  But with the spell, he didn't move or make a sound, so we thought he was finally resting."  Tink choked off a cry and shook her head, "When I finally released him… I'm so sorry Peter!"  Tink wept, remembering the terrorized boy's screams when he'd awakened.  "It took us forever to get him out of the hysterics, and I had to restrain him to keep him from hurting himself.  He wouldn't speak for hours."

"It's okay, Tink," Peter tried to comfort his friend.  "You didn't know.  I know you and the others would never hurt me, no matter what the dreams tell me."  He looked at Panther again.  "I haven't been asleep since then.  Tink's helping me to stay awake, but I'm so tired.  I won't be able to stay awake much longer, no matter what kind of magic she uses.  The dreams are worse if I sleep at night.  During the day, they're always just repeats of old ones I had.  The new ones come at night.  When I'm dreaming, I think its real and I don't remember that I'd had nightmares; even when I'm living one of the old ones I don't remember the time before.  But when I wake up, I remember all of them… I can still _feel all of them."_

"And all of your nightmares are about Captain Hook?" Panther asked.

Peter nodded, "He's in every one of them.  Sometimes he does things to me, sometimes he just watches while someone else does it for him.  I always die.  And every time, it gets more painful, more…" Peter struggled for a word, "detailed… imaginative."

Panther thought for awhile.  "Perhaps your fears are expressing themselves in your dreams."

"I'm not afraid of Hook," Peter snapped, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.  "At least, I wasn't when this started.  Some of the ways he's killed me, I didn't know people could do things like that to other people.  He's threatened to keel-haul me lots of times for real," Peter winced and ducked his head at the vivid memory:  being dragged across the barnacles beneath the ship; trying not to scream, to save his air, and finally being pulled to the surface just before he gave up; then being dragged under again to repeat the process over and over again. "But I never knew what that meant until he did it to me in my dream.  How can I dream of stuff I don't know about?"

"I think there may be a terror-sprite attacking him.  I can almost feel it when he sleeps," Tink added.

Panther frowned in concern, "Your people banished all the dream creatures from touching us, unless we reach out to them in a dream-quest.  You would know before me if one had returned.  The island's magic shields my tribe and Peter's from their influence."

"The protections still hold, I've checked them carefully for the smallest hole," Tink sighed.  "The only humans they could bother would be the pirates, and I doubt there's much they could show those cut-throats that would scare them enough to make it worth the effort."

Panther nodded and returned his attention to Peter, who was once again sitting with his head bowed, staring at his hands lying limply in his lap.  He hated to see the boy in such pain.  He'd known Peter all his life, they'd been friends when he was a youth, and when he was older he'd vowed to protect the eternal child, as the old shaman before him had.  He loved the boy, and even when Peter's antics caused mayhem he was able to look past his irritation and smile, remembering the trouble he used to help Peter cause when he was a boy.  He would do anything for Peter.

"There is one thing I know to do," he said finally as he retrieved his black crystal from a medicine pouch.  "Peter, I will try to put you in a dreamless sleep."  He held up his hands when Peter drew back.  "I will watch your dreams, if you manage to have them.  If my magic works, you will not dream and will get the rest your body and mind desperately need.  If it fails, this crystal will show us your dreams.  Tinker Bell and I may be able to sense something that will tell us why this is happening to you, and I will be able to wake you from your dream."

Peter moaned and began to shake as the shaman spoke.  "Please don't.  I can't do this anymore."

Panther pulled the boy to him and held him, as he'd done before when Peter was sick or injured.  "I have always been here for you, Peter.  I have watched over you, even when I was your size I watched over you.  Let me help you now.  Together, Tinker Bell and I _will discover the source of your torment, but we cannot do that unless you sleep.  If I can take away your dreams and give you rest, I will – but I cannot cure you until I see the problem for myself."_

Peter held the shaman back, taking comfort from the large man's embrace.  The Indians were first family he remembered having.  He knew he lived with them for a little while when he first came here, before he was completely wild and lived with Tinker Bell.  "Don't let me go," he whispered, "Maybe it'll be better when I wake up if you have me."

Panther began chanting an Indian lullaby while he rocked Peter gently.  The boy smiled, remembering a faceless squaw that had done this for him long ago.  After awhile, Peter relaxed and soon afterwards he slipped into sleep.  Panther cradled Peter to him, lying the child back so that he could stare down into his face, and placed the crystal on the boy's forehead.  Together, the man and the pixie watched over him and waited.

He ran through the forest, dodging the trees and branches that appeared in his path out of the dark.  He couldn't hear his pursuers, their footfalls were silent, as befitted their race.  But he knew they were coming, drawing closer with every moment.  He broke into a clearing and ran faster.

"This way!  Here's the boy.  Get him!  Kill him!" came the ringing calls from above.  Peter glanced up in alarm.  The stars above him were twinkling and moving, betraying him by calling to his enemies and pointing out his path.

"Why?" Peter screamed, "How could you turn against me?"  The cold stars giggled and echoed his questions mockingly.  Peter dashed back to the forest, seeking the cover of the trees to hide him from the traitor stars.

Tears blinded him as he ran, and in vain he tried to wipe them away.  Unable to see for the wetness of his eyes and the darkness, he ran into something, a wall of some sorts.  He fell to the ground and looked up, smiling in hope as he beheld the Indian Chief towering over him.

"Chief Big Little Panther!  Help me, they're coming!" Peter begged, relief flooding though him.  _He's my guardian, no one could ever make him hurt me._  When the man held out his hand, Peter took it gratefully.  But when the chief clamped down painfully on his wrist and refused to let go, Peter felt the despair and fear fill him again.

"The Great Spirit seeks you, Peter Pan," the shaman intoned.  "There is no refuge for you, there is no escape."  Suddenly they were in the village, within the ceremonial grounds.

Peter heard a familiar chuckle, and turned to see Captain Hook lounging on a throne.  "No, please no," Peter whimpered softly.  Something was tugging at him, and somehow he knew what would happen next.

"Great Spirit Hook!" Panther called, "We offer to you your greatest enemy, Peter Pan, as a sacrifice!"

"I accept your offer," Hook purred.  "Proceed."

Panther bowed and dragged Peter to and upright wooden pole.  Around the pole was a mound of logs and debris.  Peter screamed in fear and thrashed, trying to get away from the man's iron grip.  But two braves grabbed his wrists and ankles and helped Panther lash him to the pole.

"Peter Pan!" Hook called, "prepare to feel the fire of my wrath, which shall consume you utterly!" 

"Burn in Hell!" Peter called back, trying to remain proud and defiant in the face of such hopelessness.  He saw the Indians watching impassively, and Wendy and the Lost Boys were standing there with eager anticipation in their eyes, and his pride broke and he began to weep.  

"You first, Pan," Hook yelled back.  He nodded and Tiger Lily and Hard-to-Hit thrust their torches into the pile, igniting the fuel.

"Stop!  Chief Panther, help me!  Wendy!  Nibs!  You're my _friends!  Panther, you promised to protect me!"  Peter begged, but no one seemed to hear him… no one except Hook, who was watching hungrily as the flames rose higher around the boy.  Peter drew up tight to the pole as the heat went from uncomfortable to painful to intolerable.  He screamed as it became too hot and his clothes and hair ignited and his skin began to burn…_

"AWAKE!" Panther commanded again as Tink used her magic to reinforce his.  Peter continued to scream, but his eyes opened at last.  He thrashed, trying to extinguish himself and flee the pain that had overwhelmed his senses.  Panther held on tighter and kept him close.  "You are safe, Peter," he repeated again and again, his voice soothing and sure.  "It was just a dream, you are safe."

Peter continued to fight, echoes of the dream clinging to him.  He still felt like he was burning, but the pain was lessening more with each passing moment.  Finally he lay still, panting heavily as reality reasserted itself and he realized where he was.

"I would never do anything like that to you," Panther whispered.  "You've seen our ceremonies.  There are none that call for human sacrifice."  Peter began to cry in relief and Panther hugged him tightly, lightly stroking his back and hair.  "We all love you, Peter.  You are Neverland's soul.  How could we ever harm you?"

"I couldn't remember," Peter gasped between his sobs.  "In my dream, all I knew was I was afraid and it hurt and no one would help me.  I had that same dream before, last time I slept.  Why?  Why is this happening?  Even Hook can't hate me so much he'd do those awful things."

"I sensed a terror-sprite," Tink whispered.  "It wasn't touching him, not directly, and it got stronger at the end."

"It's discovered how to reach him and bypass the shields.  You must tell your kin," Panther replied.

"If I take him to Small Monday Island, we can put up extra protections.  Even if we can't stop it, we can reduce it enough that it isn't so vivid."

"I can take you there by canoe," Panther offered.

"No," Peter said softly.  "You'll have to go near the pirate ship that way."  Peter wiped his face and pulled away from the Indian.  "I don't want to see Hook, not right now.  I don't think I can face him."  Peter looked away for a moment and took a deep breath.  "Wendy's reading to the boys nearby, waiting for us to get back.  Nibs and Slightly can help fly me to the island, it'll be faster than walking."

Panther nodded, agreeing with the boy.  Peter was defenseless right now, and if Hook came across him, he'd easily overcome the poor child.  "I will gather some things that may help and join you on the island later today."  He helped Peter to stand and gave him a pouch on a long string.  "Wear this if you sleep again.  It may help you find a spirit guide in the dream world."

"Thank you," Peter said and smiled, hanging the pouch around his neck.  He turned and followed the pixie to where his friends awaited him.


	5. The Trap

Hook grinned when he saw Pan step into the clearing.  He clamped his hand tighter onto Wendy's mouth and waited for the right moment.  He and his men surrounded the area, hidden in the brush and behind the trees, and the Lost Boys waited like good little bait where he'd left them.  _Go help your friends, boy._

Peter didn't notice anything was wrong at first, too intent on keeping his balance, his exhaustion making him clumsy and weak.  Tink also was preoccupied, worrying about the boy she loved so much.  But when he stopped walking, noticing finally the strange silence, he saw that his boys were bound and gagged in the middle of the clearing.

Quickly, Peter drew his dagger and rushed to his friends, nearly tripping on the way to them.  He was so alarmed that he didn't even take the time to get a sense of the danger than was thick around him.  Had he been his normal self, he would have known better.  "Nibs!  What happened?" he gasped as he cut the boy's gag off.

"Run, Peter, it's a trap!" Nibs gasped, then fell silent at the cruel laughter.

"No, Pan, running would be very dangerous for Miss Wendy and young Michael," Hook chuckled.  He stepped into the clearing, holding the struggling girl to him, his hook at her throat.  "I've got you now, boy."

Peter froze as cold fear flooded his body.  He had only seen Hook in his dreams for the past week, and the man had been more terrifying in one dream than in all the real encounters they'd had rolled into one.  Now the man was really here, and the cold laughter and threatening tone made the boy's heart skip in his chest.  Images flashed through his head, all the horrors of his dreams, and through it all he heard Hook's laughter.

"Pan!" Hook snapped when the boy didn't turn or respond.  "Are you deaf?  Turn around and face me!"  His smile faded when Peter complied.  The boy was pale, his face drawn with exhaustion, the circles under his eyes dark and ugly.  The boy wore an expression of pure terror, a look Hook had _never_ seen on the child's face.  _Except in my dreams._

"Are you sick, boy?" he asked frowning.

"Yes, he is!" Tink answered, flying between the Captain and Peter.  Peter needed her, and she wasn't going to flee without him.  "He's very sick, so just leave him alone and let them go!"

Hook set Wendy down and handed her to Mason.  He advanced on Peter slowly, but still the boy didn't move or speak.  "Peter?" he called softly and watched in alarm as the child's eyes rolled up and he fainted, collapsing onto the ground in an awkward heap.

"Peter!" the pixie screeched and flew down to see if he was alright.  She screeched again when Hook's huge hand closed around her.

"What is wrong with him?" Hook growled, hiding his concern.  He'd come looking for the children, intent on a refreshing fight with Pan, but he'd had no desire to harm any of them.  Last night he'd been unable to use his gift properly.  Instead of creating a new dream, he'd had to experience ones he'd had previously.  Nothing he did could divert the path of the dream, and he'd been rather uneasy watching them the second time around.  They were too real, too detailed… things he'd noticed when he wasn't as wrapped up in the creation of the dream were disturbing to him now.  He had thought that it was perhaps because he'd gone so long without seeing the boy; it had been a week since their last clash.  He'd actually been wondering if perhaps Smee had hit him harder on the head than they'd thought.   He'd hoped today that a fight with Pan could give him focus, allow him to again find the anger and hate that he used for inspiration in his dreams.  He'd come looking for a fight, and Pan's reaction was a far cry from anything he'd ever expected.

"Please, leave him alone," Wendy yelled, trying to shrug off Mason's hand.  

Hook glared at her in annoyance.  "Take the whelps to the longboat.  I'll bring Pan and the pixie shortly.  Smee, stay with me."  When the pirates had dragged off the bound boys, he turned his attention back to Peter.  

"Let him go," Tink cried, "He's sick and he needs help.  I have to get him to Small Monday Island."

Hook ignored her as he stared at the boy.  "If you value his life, you won't escape," he growled, and showed her the blood on the grass beside Peter.  When the pixie nodded, he let go of her and carefully rolled the boy over.

Peter had fallen on his knife and the blade had bitten deeply into his hip.  Quickly, Hook and Smee removed the boy's clothing, and the Captain found himself silently praying that Peter hadn't given himself a mortal wound.  _I still haven't decided how I really want to kill him… I've been playing with the gift; I'd never actually do__ any of those things to him.  Finally Smee got the boy's shorts off and studied the wound intently._

"Deep, but it won' kill 'em.  Just cut through 'is muscle," Smee observed.  He pressed a cloth to the cut to staunch the bleeding and bound it there with some cloth.

"Oh, thank goodness," Tink sighed.  She landed on Peter's chest and tried to wake him, calling his name softly.  She gave a small yelp when she found herself in Hook's grip again.

"Let the boy sleep, he looks like he could use the rest," Hook said quietly, watching while Smee redressed Peter.  The boy was out cold, and not even Smee's jostling was enough to evoke the slightest moan.  

Tink's first instinct was to protest, but then she took another look at Peter.  He wasn't crying out, he wasn't thrashing.  _He's not dreaming, not yet at least.  Let him rest while he can, and pray that he sleeps well.  I just have to keep Hook from hurting him, somehow.  "You're right.  Please don't hurt him, he's suffered so much since you last saw him."_

Hook let the pixie go again and tilted Peter's face towards him, trying to get a better look.  The pain was etched so deeply there that even sleep didn't soften it.  "I won't hurt him.  Perhaps when we get to the ship, you can tell me what's wrong with him.  He's not sick, he doesn't have a fever."

"Cap'n?" Smee spoke up.  He pointed to Peter's arm.  "Wonder what did that," he mused, staring at the dozens of shallow cuts of the back of his forearm, crisscrossing from wrist to elbow.

"Peter did that to himself," Tink answered, but she refused to say anything more on the subject.

Hook shook his head and picked the boy up.  Peter finally did react, whimpering a bit as his face drew up into an even tighter frown, but beyond that there was nothing.  Together the two pirates and the fairy made their way to the longboat.

"Wake up, boy," the voice called softly.  Peter tried to ignore it and stay in the numb blackness, but the voice persisted.  It pulled him on, back towards consciousness, and Peter groaned as his tired body and mind protested.  "Peter, you need to eat," came Hook's voice.

Peter's eyes flew open as the realization of who was speaking to him hit home.  The first thing he saw was the face of Captain Hook and felt the man's hand on his chest, shaking him awake.  He screamed in terror, panic overriding his thoughts as he thrashed about, desperate to get away.  He howled when something kept a grip on his feet, preventing him from kicking and crawling, and he lashed out blindly, terrorized beyond reason.

Hook fell back in alarm at the wholly unexpected response from Pan.  "Boy!" he called, trying to get the child to calm.  "I'm not going to hurt you boy!  Quit yer catawauling!"  Peter's screams intensified, and the man backed away to his desk, where the small cage with the pixie in it sat.

"Captain," the girl called, "let me go to him, and I promise I won't escape.  He needs me right now!"

Hook frowned as he considered, and watched Pan intently.  The boy managed to crawl away in the other direction, where there was slack in his shackles, leaving his pallet and cramming himself into the corner.  He was openly crying, which Hook marveled at.  He'd never seen Pan actually shed tears.  The boy was terrified.  "Why are you afraid of me?" Hook mused softly.  "You've never been afraid of me before."   When Peter began clawing at the shackles on his leg, Hook made up his mind.  He was acting like a wild animal, tearing at the flesh around the iron in an effort to free himself.  "Calm him down, fairy, and keep your word," he growled as he opened the cage.  "That claptrap is getting on my nerves!"

Peter looked around wildly, not relieved in the slightest that Hook had backed off.  He was in Hook's cabin!  Chained up!  Alone with Hook!  _Run… he's gonna hurt me!  Not again, no more…He drew his knees up, trying to reach the metal cuff on his leg, and he gasped at the pain in his side.  _

"Peter," Tink called as she flew to him.  "Calm down, I'm here.  You're safe."

Peter glanced wildly from her to Hook.  _She's with him, like the dreams!  He wailed and covered his face, hopelessness added to his fear.  _

Tink continued to talk to him soothingly, with a patience she only possessed for this boy.  This was like any other time Peter had awakened, panicked beyond reason.  It had taken patience and reassurance to calm him then, it would take the same now.  She just hated that Hook was here, his presence wasn't helping at all.  _But he didn't seem to be dreaming, he was quiet for hours.  I wish Hook had just let him sleep a bit longer!_  "Peter, I'm here.  Hook isn't going to hurt you right now.  Please Peter, trust me.  I love you.  You're safe with me."

By degrees, Peter's cries subsided and he calmed, coherencey returning to his thoughts.  "Safe?" he echoed.  "Hook has me.  He'll kill me."  Suddenly Peter laughed, a hysterical edge to the sound that frightened the fairy girl and made Hook's scowl disappear, to be replaced by outright concern.  "Maybe I should let him."

"I have no interest in killing you right now, boy," Hook snapped.  He forced himself to speak more softly when Peter jumped at his tone.  "Tinker Bell informed me that you haven't eaten for days, so I had Cookson make you some broth and bread."  He had qualms about giving a sick child any of the cook's fare, so he'd had Mason watch the man to make sure he used fresh meat in the pot, and only added salt to the broth.  As upset as Peter was, anything more than that would make him sick.

Peter looked at the pallet he'd awakened on, and saw the bowl of liquid, roll, and the glass of milk sitting there.  There were also bloody bandages lying nearby, and tentatively he touched his aching side. "Let me go," he whispered, confused.  

"Peter," Tink settled on his knee, "you were resting so we let you sleep.  Please, eat and try to go back to sleep… get some rest while you can."  She saw Peter's hand covering his wound.  "Leave it alone, Peter.  The wound isn't bad, but it's bled a lot.  You're too weak right now, you need food and rest."

"Wound?" Peter frowned.  _Hook wounded me?  _

"You fainted," Tink continued to explain, "and you fell on your dagger.  Hook and Smee took care of it."

_Hook and Smee treated my wound?_ Peter mused as he touched his side.  This wasn't the same man that haunted him in his sleep.  That man would have poured salt in the wound, or completed the cut and eviscerated him.  But it was so hard to remember what was real and what wasn't.  The dreams were so vivid, they were becoming as real as memories to him.  More real.  Peter stared at Hook in desperation.  "I'm sorry, Captain.  I'm sorry for every bad thing I ever did to you.  Please don't hurt me."  He began to cry again, the swirls of emotion too much for him to bear.

"Calm down, boy," Hook said, "you still need to eat."  But Peter's cries continued and the pixie was flitting about fretfully, also trying to soothe the child.  The sobs and wails grated Hook's nerves and he left the cabin, deciding to give the boy some space and to get away from the upsetting sounds.

Once Hook was gone, Peter was able to calm down, letting the bad memories recede without Hook's presence to keep them vivid.  He hiccupped, his stomach unsteady from his crying, and wiped his face dry.  "Tink, let me out of these," he pulled at the leg iron.  "We have to escape."

Tink shook her head.  "I would, Peter, promise or no promise, but Hook has the others too.  You're in no condition to escape right now, and he might hurt them if you leave them behind.  Besides," she frowned, thinking, "for some reason you slept dreamlessly here.  I don't know why, but you need to take advantage of it.  Eat and sleep, Peter.  I've seen how he's treated you since he brought you here, and he isn't going to hurt you right now.  Even Hook's not so cold blooded he'd kill you while you're obviously sick."  Keeping up her reassurances, she finally got Peter to come out of the corner and eat.  Once his stomach was full and he lay back down, it was only moments before his exhausted body overrode his fear and he fell back into sleep.

A few hours later, Hook returned to find the boys asleep, his pixie sitting on his chest deep in thought.  He noted the empty bowl and nodded, pleased.  "What in perdition is wrong with him, Tinker Bell?" he asked as he knelt beside the boy.  Peter had given himself some rather nasty scratches on his ankle, so Hook remove the iron and doused it with whiskey before wrapping it in some clean cloth.  

"He's being attacked by something… an evil fairy," Tink answered absently, still trying to think.  _Something's different right now.  What is it?  Is it Hook himself?  Being over the open water?  They have to use something to get to him like this, perhaps that something is on the island… I don't know!  She had no intention on telling Hook anything specific, fearing the man would do something to make it work.  She had told Peter Hook wouldn't hurt him, to calm the boy… in reality she trusted Hook about as far as she could throw him.  _

"Next time he wakes, I'll transport him and his friends to Small Monday Island," Hook told the pixie as he wetted a cloth and wiped Peter's face.  "If something evil is attacking my nemesis, I want it stopped.  I will kill Pan, and I don't want anyone else harming him."  He was having a hard time finding his usual anger for the boy; instead, feelings of pity and concern were replacing the anger and hate he usually held for this brat.  Growling in disgust at his weakness, Hook stood and went to his bed.  "I won't chain him back up, perhaps he won't awaken so panicked next time if he's not fettered.  Don't let him do anything so foolish as to escape… I doubt he'll get far in his condition."

Tink stared at Hook, smiling abit in relief.  "Thank you, Captain.  You're not as bad as you pretend to be."

Hook sneered, taking the comment as an insult.  "Oh I am much worse than I pretend to be.  I want Pan fit when I defeat him, I want to prove that age triumphs over youth.  I will show once and for all that I am the better man, and I will have my revenge.  Cold comfort it will be if I kill him when he's being undermined by something not of my own doing."  Ignoring the pixie, he got ready for bed and turned in for the night.  _The Pan of my dreams will be better sport, even if it is another repeat of an older dream._


End file.
